“I want you to know I’m here to help.”
“No,” I say, adjusting my position to use the leg press while we talk. “You want to force us to fix things.”
“Of course I want you to fix things! You’re my friends.”
“And it’s making the band look bad,” I add, raising my eyebrows.
Jon studies me, then shrugs weakly. “What do you want me to do, say that’s not true? You know it’s true.”
“There it is,” I say. Mom’s bite has crept into my voice. This always happens after speaking with her. It’s like she infects me.
“For goodness’ sake, Ruben, not everything’s a conspiracy against you. Not everyone has an agenda.”
“I already know you have an agenda,” I say. “An agenda’s your birthright.” Wow, that sounded a lot crueler out loud than intended. I backtrack. “I mean, I didn’t mean it like that. I just, like, your dad puts pressure on you. We know he does, and I know you can’t help that. But I just … need you to not manage me right now. I need you to be my friend.”
He breathes out long and slow, and I can almost see him counting to five in his head. “I am trying,” he says slowly.
“Tell me it won’t matter if Zach and I are never friends again. Tell me you won’t hold that against me.”
He seems confused, and I guess I don’t blame him. Everything’s muddled in my head, and I don’t know quite how I got there, but it’s suddenly very important to me to know that our friendship isn’t conditional based on how well I handle this situation. I need to know it’s okay, because I don’t think I can control this. It’s gotten away from me.
“I’ll still be your friend, if that’s what you mean,” he says carefully. “But I wouldn’t say it won’t matter.”
“I need it to not matter.”
“But it will. I can’t help that. It sucks being stuck between you two all the time. I don’t want to choose.”
“No one’s asking you to choose.”
“Maybe, but it kind of feels like it sometimes.”
I go harder on the leg press. “I don’t know how to fix this,” I grunt.
“You could start by being a bit nicer to him.”
“What?” I ask, pausing. “He’s the one who keeps making comments about me.”
“I’d honestly say it’s about fifty-fifty.”
I shake my head without speaking, and Jon shrugs. “I’m just giving you feedback. You don’t need to take it.”
You always get so defensive whenever someone tries to give you feedback, Ruben.
Screw this. I throw my hands up, startling Jon. “Fine. Sure. I guess I’m the asshole here. Zach’s not doing anything wrong, and it’s all on me.”
“Ruben—”
“You want me to be nicer to him? I’ll be super fucking nice. I’ll be the nicest goddamn person you’ve ever seen, and if he doesn’t magically become my friend again, maybe you’ll finally catch on that it’s not actually me doing this. I am just responding, as well as I goddamn can.”
“I’m going to go.”
I scoff as he gathers his gym gear. “Yeah, okay. Go. Sorry for not being super nice to you, either.”
“Okay, Ruben.”
“Tell your dad not to worry. The feedback’s been noted! I’ll be so pleasant from now on, you won’t recognize me.”
I shout the second half of the sentence to a closed door.
Keegan raises an eyebrow at me. “You know, kid, you probably could’ve handled that better,” he says, lowering the dumbbell to his side. My cheeks burn, and I scowl and turn back to my workout.
* * *
It’s really, really difficult to keep up a pleasant appearance during the interview. I manage it, though. Because unlike some people, I understand that it’s important to leave emotions at the door when you walk into work.
I’ve been as nice as I possibly can be to Zach ever since we left the hotel. On the minibus over here, I asked Zach how he was （fine, thanks）。 I asked him how he’d slept （yeah, fine）。 I asked him if he’d heard of the chocolate-covered strawberries they have in Belgium, and if he thinks we’ll get the chance to try them （I dunno, maybe）。
With every question, he shrank further away from me, staring at me with wary hazel eyes. Like I was threatening him with a weapon, not asking him pleasant conversational questions. Every now and then I looked over to Jon, to see if he noticed. He spent the ride staring pointedly out the window, chewing frantically on his bottom lip. Angel spent the whole ride on his phone.